Chapters 1 - 24

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in

possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.
However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on
his first entering a neighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in the
minds of the surrounding families, that he is considered the rightful
property of some one or other of their daughters. (Ch. 1)
She [Mrs. Bennet] was a woman of mean understanding, little
information, and uncertain temper. (Ch. 1)
"She is tolerable; but not handsome enough to tempt me; I am in
no humour at present to give consequence to young ladies who are
slighted by other men. You had better return to your partner and
enjoy her smiles, for you are wasting your time with me." (Mr Darcy
to Mr. Bingley about Elizabeth Bennet; Ch. 3)
"But I can assure you," she added, "that Lizzy does not lose much by
not suiting his fancy; for he is a most disagreeable, horrid man, not
at all worth pleasing. So high and so conceited that there was no
enduring him! He walked here, and he walked there, fancying
himself so very great! Not handsome enough to dance with! I wish
you had been there, my dear, to have given him one of your set-
downs. I quite detest the man." (Mrs. Bennet to Mr. Bennet about Mr.
Darcy; Ch. 3)
"Oh! you are a great deal too apt, you know, to like people in
general. You never see a fault in anybody. All the world are good
and agreeable in your eyes. I never heard you speak ill of a human
being in your life.""I would not wish to be hasty in censuring anyone;
but I always speak what I think.""I know you do; and it is that which
makes the wonder. With your good sense, to be so honestly blind to
the follies and nonsense of others! Affectation of candour is
common enough— one meets with it everywhere. But to be
candid without ostentation or design— to take the good of
everybody's character and make it still better, and say nothing
of the bad— belongs to you alone. And so you like this man's
sisters, too, do you? Their manners are not equal to his." (Elizabeth
to Jane; Ch. 4)
"I could easily forgive his pride, if he had not mortified mine."
(Elizabeth about Darcy; Ch. 5)
"Vanity and pride are different things, though the words are
often used synonymously. A person may be proud without
being vain. Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves,
vanity to what we would have others think of us." (Mary; Ch. 5)
If a woman is partial to a man, and does not endeavour to
conceal it, he must find it out. (Elizabeth, about Bingley Ch. 6)
"Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance. If the
dispositions of the parties are ever so well known to each other or
ever so similar beforehand, it does not advance their felicity in the
least. They always continue to grow sufficiently unlike afterwards to
have their share of vexation; and it is better to know as little as
possible of the defects of the person with whom you are to pass your
life.""You make me laugh, Charlotte; but it is not sound. You know it
is not sound, and that you would never act in this way yourself."
(Charlotte Lucas and Lizzy; Ch. 6)
Occupied in observing Mr. Bingley's attentions to her sister,
Elizabeth was far from suspecting that she was herself becoming an
object of some interest in the eyes of his friend. Mr. Darcy had at
first scarcely allowed her to be pretty; he had looked at her
without admiration at the ball; and when they next met, he
looked at her only to criticise. But no sooner had he made it
clear to himself and his friends that she hardly had a good
feature in her face, than he began to find it was rendered
uncommonly intelligent by the beautiful expression of her dark
eyes. To this discovery succeeded some others equally
mortifying. Though he had detected with a critical eye more than
one failure of perfect symmetry in her form, he was forced to
acknowledge her figure to be light and pleasing; and in spite of his
asserting that her manners were not those of the fashionable world,
he was caught by their easy playfulness. Of this she was perfectly
unaware; to her he was only the man who made himself agreeable
nowhere, and who had not thought her handsome enough to dance
with. (Ch. 6)
"Your conjecture is totally wrong, I assure you. My mind was more
agreeably engaged. I have been meditating on the very great
pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman
can bestow." (Darcy to Miss Bingley; Ch. 6)
A lady's imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to
love, from love to matrimony, in a moment. (Darcy to Miss
Bingley, Ch. 6)
"If my children are silly, I must hope to be always sensible of it... This
is the only point, I flatter myself, on which we do not agree. I had
hoped that our sentiments coincided in every particular, but I must so
far differ from you as to think our two youngest daughters
uncommonly foolish." (Mr Bennet to his wife; Ch. 7)
"Nothing is more deceitful," said Darcy, "than the appearance of
humility. It is often only carelessness of opinion, and sometimes an
indirect boast." (Ch. 10)
"The power of doing anything with quickness is always prized much
by the possessor, and often without any attention to the imperfection
of the performance." (Ch. 10)
"You expect me to account for opinions which you choose to
call mine, but which I have never acknowledged." (Ch. 10)
"To yield readily— easily— to the persuasion of a friend is no merit
with you.""To yield without conviction is no compliment to the
understanding of either.""You appear to me, Mr. Darcy, to allow
nothing for the influence of friendship and affection." (Ch. 10)
She (Elizabeth) hardly knew how to suppose that she could be an
object of admiration to so great a man (Darcy). (Ch. 10)
Elizabeth, having rather expected to affront him, was amazed at his
gallantry; but there was a mixture of sweetness and archness in her
manner which made it difficult for her to affront anybody; and Darcy
had never been so bewitched by any woman as he was by her. He
really believed, that were it not for the inferiority of her connections,
he should be in some danger. (Ch. 10)
"I am perfectly convinced by it that Mr. Darcy has no defect. He owns
it himself without disguise.""No," said Darcy, "I have made no such
pretension. I have faults enough, but they are not, I hope, of
understanding. My temper I dare not vouch for. It is, I believe,
too little yielding— certainly too little for the convenience of the
world. I cannot forget the follies and vices of other so soon as I
ought, nor their offenses against myself. My feelings are not puffed
about with every attempt to move them. My temper would perhaps
be called resentful. My good opinion once lost is lost forever.""That is
a failing indeed!" cried Elizabeth. "Implacable resentment is a shade
in a character. But you have chosen your fault well. I really cannot
laugh at it. You are safe from me.""There is, I believe, in every
disposition a tendency to some particular evil— a natural defect,
which not even the best education can overcome.""And your defect
is a propensity to hate everybody.""And yours," he replied with
a smile, "is willfully to misunderstand them." (Ch. 11)
Mr. Collins had only to change from Jane to Elizabeth—and it was
soon done—done while Mrs. Bennet was stirring the fire. (Ch. 15)
"I had not thought Mr. Darcy so bad as this— though I have never
liked him. I had not thought so very ill of him. I had supposed him to
be despising his fellow-creatures in general, but did not suspect him
of descending to such malicious revenge, such injustice, such
inhumanity as this." (Ch. 16)
"Interested people have perhaps misrepresented each to the other. It
is, in short, impossible for us to conjecture the causes or
circumstances which may have alienated them, without actual blame
on either side.""Very true, indeed; and now, my dear Jane, what
have you got to say on behalf of the interested people who have
probably been concerned in the business? Do clear them too, or
we shall be obliged to think ill of somebody.""Laugh as much
as you choose, but you will not laugh me out of my opinion."
(Ch. 17)
"It is your turn to say something now, Mr. Darcy. I talked about the
dance, and you ought to make some kind of remark on the size of
the room, or the number of couples." (Ch. 18)
"Mr. Wickham is blessed with such happy manners as may
ensure his making friends— whether he may be equally capable
of retaining them, is less certain." (Ch. 18)
"Books— oh! no. I am sure we never read the same, or not with the
same feelings.""I am sorry you think so; but if that be the case, there
can at least be no want of subject. We may compare our different
opinions." (Ch. 18)
"I remember hearing you once say, Mr. Darcy, that you hardly ever
forgave, that your resentment once created was unappeasable. You
are very cautious, I suppose, as to its being created." (Ch. 18)
"It is particularly incumbent on those who never change their
opinion, to be secure of judging properly at first." (Ch. 18)
"May I ask to what these questions tend?""Merely to the illustration
of your character," said she, endeavouring to shake off her gravity. "I
am trying to make it out.""And what is your success?"She shook her
head. "I do not get on at all. I hear such different accounts of you
as puzzle me exceedingly." (Ch. 18)
"I can readily believe," answered he gravely, "that reports may vary
greatly with respect to me; and I could wish, Miss Bennet, that you
were not to sketch my character at the present moment, as
there is reason to fear that the performance would reflect no
credit on either.""But if I do not take your likeness now, I may never
have another opportunity." (Ch. 18)
"I do assure you that I am not one of those young ladies (if such
young ladies there are) who are so daring as to risk their
happiness on the chance of being asked a second time. I am
perfectly serious in my refusal. You could not make me happy, and I
am convinced that I am the last woman in the world who could make
you so." (Ch. 19)
"Indeed, Mr. Collins, all praise of me will be unnecessary. You must
give me leave to judge for myself, and pay me the compliment
of believing what I say. I wish you very happy and very rich, and by
refusing you hand, do all in my power to prevent your being
otherwise." (Ch. 19)
"Really, Mr. Collins," cried Elizabeth with some warmth, "you puzzle
me exceedingly. If what I have hitherto said can appear to you in
the form of encouragement, I know not how to express my
refusal in such a way as to convince you of its being one." (Ch.
19)
"I do assure you, Sir, that I have no pretension whatever to that kind
of elegance which consists in tormenting a respectable man. I would
rather be paid the compliment of being believed sincere. I thank you
again and again for the honour you have done me in your proposals,
but to accept them is absolutely impossible. My feelings in every
respect forbid it. Can I speak plainer? Do not consider me now
as an elegant female, intending to plague you, but as a rational
creature, speaking the truth from her heart." (Ch. 19)
To such perseverance in wilful self-deception, Elizabeth would make
no reply, and immediately and in silence withdrew; determined, that
if he persisted in considering her repeated refusals as flattering
encouragement, to apply to her father, whose negative might be
uttered in such a manner as must be decisive, and whose
behaviour at least could not be mistaken for the affectation and
coquetry of an elegant female. (Ch. 19)
"An unhappy alternative is before you, Elizabeth. From this day
you must be a stranger to one of your parents. Your mother will
never see you again if you do not marry Mr. Collins, and I will
never see you again if you do." (Mr Bennet, Ch. 20)
"Nobody can tell what I suffer! -- But it is always so. Those who
do not complain are never pitied." (Mrs Bennet, Ch. 20)
". . . resignation is never so perfect as when the blessing denied
begins to lose somewhat of its value in our estimation." (Mr Collins,
Chapter 20)
"This is not fair. You wish to think all the world respectable, and are
hurt if I speak ill of anybody. I only want to think you perfect, and you
set yourself against it. Do not be afraid of my running into any
excess, of my encroaching on your privilege of universal good-will.
You need not. There are few people whom I really love, and still
fewer of whom I think well. The more I see of the world, the
more am I dissatisfied with it; and every day confirms my belief of
the inconsistency of all human characters, and of the little
dependence that can be placed on the appearance of merit or
sense." (Ch. 24)
"My dear Lizzy, do not give way to such feelings as these. They will
ruin your happiness. You do not make allowance enough for
difference of situation and temper. Consider Mr. Collins's
respectability, and Charlotte's steady, prudent character. Remember
that she is one of a large family; that as to fortune, it is a most
eligible match; and be ready to believe, for everybody's sake, that
she may feel something like regard and esteem for our cousin." (Ch.
24)
"To oblige you, I would try to believe almost anything, but no one
else could be benefited by such a belief as this; for were I persuaded
that Charlotte had any regard for him, I should only think worse of
her understanding than I now do of her heart. My dear Jane, Mr.
Collins is a conceited, pompous, narrow-minded, silly man; you know
he is, as well as I do; and you must feel, as well as I do, that the
woman who married him cannot have a proper way of thinking. You
shall not defend her, though it is Charlotte Lucas. You shall not, for
the sake of one individual, change the meaning of principle and
integrity, nor endeavour to persuade yourself or me, that
selfishness is prudence, and insensibility of danger security for
happiness." (Ch. 24)
"We must not be so ready to fancy ourselves intentionally injured.
We must not expect a lively young man to be always so guarded and
circumspect. It is very often nothing but our own vanity that deceives
us. Women fancy admiration means more than it does.""And
men take care that they should." (Ch. 24)
Miss Bennet was the only creature who could suppose there might
be any extenuating circumstances in the case, unknown to the
society of Hertfordshire; her mild and steady candour always
pleaded for allowances, and urged the possibility of mistakes— but
by everybody else Mr. Darcy was condemned as the worst of men.
(Ch. 24)

Chapters 25 - 36
"We do not suffer by accident. It does not often happen that the
interference of friends will persuade a young man of
independent fortune to think no more of a girl whom he was
violently in love with only a few days before.""But that expression
of 'violently in love' is so hackneyed, so doubtful, so indefinite, that it
gives me very little idea. It is as often applied to feelings which arise
from a half-hour's acquaintance, as to a real, strong attachment.
Pray, how violent was Mr. Bingley's love?""I never saw a more
promising inclination; he was growing quite inattentive to other
people, and wholly engrossed by her. Every time they met, it was
more decided and remarkable. At his own ball he offended two or
three young ladies, by not asking them to dance; and I spoke to him
twice myself, without receiving an answer. Could there be finer
symptoms? Is not general incivility the very essence of love?"
(Ch. 25)
"Adieu to disappointment and spleen. What are men to rocks and
mountains?" (Ch. 27)
"And is this all?" cried Elizabeth. "I expected at least that the pigs
were got into the garden, and here is nothing but Lady Catherine and
her daughter..." (Ch. 28)
"I like her appearance," said Elizabeth, struck with other ideas. "She
looks sickly and cross. Yes, she will do for him very well. She will
make him a very proper wife." (Ch. 28)
"There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be
frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises at
every attempt to intimidate me.""I shall not say you are mistaken,"
he replied, "because you could not really believe me to entertain any
design of alarming you; and I have had the pleasure of your
acquaintance long enough to know that you find great enjoyment in
occasionally professing opinions which in fact are not your own."
Elizabeth laughed heartily at this picture of herself, and said to
Colonel Fitzwilliam, "Your cousin will give you a very pretty notion of
me, and teach you not to believe a word I say. I am particularly
unlucky in meeting with a person so able to expose my real
character, in a part of the world where I had hoped to pass myself off
with some degree of credit." (Ch. 31)
"I certainly have not the talent which some people possess," said
Darcy, "of conversing easily with those I have never seen before. I
cannot catch their tone of conversation, or appear interested in their
concerns, as I often see done.""My fingers," said Elizabeth, "do not
move over this instrument in the masterly manner which I see so
many women's do. They have not the same force or rapidity, and do
not produce the same expression. But then I have always supposed
it to be my own fault- because I would not take the trouble of
practising..."(Ch. 31)
More than once did Elizabeth, in her ramble within the park,
unexpectedly meet Mr. Darcy. She felt all the perverseness of the
mischance that should bring him where no one else was brought,
and, to prevent its ever happening again, took care to inform him at
first that it was a favourite haunt of hers. How it could occur a second
time, therefore, was very odd! Yet it did, and even a third. It seemed
like wilful ill-nature, or a voluntary penance, for on these occasions it
was not merely a few formal inquiries and an awkward pause and
then away, but he actually thought it necessary to turn back and walk
with her.
"It is a circumstance which Darcy could not wish to be generally
known, because if it were to get round to the lady's family, it would
be an unpleasant thing.""You may depend upon my not mentioning
it.""And remember that I have not much reason for supposing it to be
Bingley. What he told me was merely this: that he congratulated
himself on having lately saved a friend from the inconveniences of a
most imprudent marriage, but without mentioning names or any
other particulars, and I only suspected it to be Bingley from believing
him the kind of young man to get into a scrape of that sort, and from
knowing them to have been together the whole of last summer.""Did
Mr. Darcy give you reasons for this interference?""I understood that
there were some very strong objections against the lady."
"I do not see what right Mr. Darcy had to decide on the propriety of
his friend's inclination, or why, upon his own judgement alone, he
was to determine and direct in what manner his friend was to be
happy. But," she continued, recollecting herself, "as we know none
of the particulars, it is not fair to condemn him. It is not to be
supposed that there was much affection in the case."
She was suddenly roused by the sound of the door-bell, and her
spirits were a little fluttered by the idea of its being Colonel
Fitzwilliam himself, who had once before called late in the evening,
and might now come to inquire particularly after her. But this idea
was soon banished, and her spirits were very differently affected,
when, to her utter amazement, she saw Mr. Darcy walk into the
room. In an hurried manner he immediately began an inquiry after
her health, imputing his visit to a wish of hearing that she were
better. She answered him with cold civility. He sat down for a few
moments, and then getting up, walked about the room. Elizabeth
was surprised, but said not a word. After a silence of several
minutes, he came towards her in an agitated manner, and thus
began:"In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will
not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I
admire and love you."
Elizabeth's astonishment was beyond expression. She stared,
coloured, doubted, and was silent. This he considered sufficient
encouragement; and the avowal of all that he felt, and had long felt
for her, immediately followed. He spoke well; but there were
feelings besides those of the heart to be detailed; and he was
not more eloquent on the subject of tenderness than of pride.
His sense of her inferiority— of its being a degradation— of the
family obstacles which judgement had always opposed to
inclination, were dwelt on with a warmth which seemed due to
the consequence he was wounding, but was very unlikely to
recommend his suit.
In spite of her deeply-rooted dislike, she could not be insensible
to the compliment of such a man's affection, and though her
intentions did not vary for an instant, she was at first sorry for
the pain he was to receive; till, roused to resentment by his
subsequent language, she lost all compassion in anger. She
tried, however, to compose herself to answer him with patience,
when he should have done. He concluded with representing to her
the strength of that attachment which, in spite of all his endeavours,
he had found impossible to conquer; and with expressing his hope
that it would now be rewarded by her acceptance of his hand. As he
said this, she could easily see that he had no doubt of a favourable
answer. He spoke of apprehension and anxiety, but his
countenance expressed real security. Such a circumstance could
only exasperate farther, and, when he ceased, the colour rose into
her cheeks, and she said: "In such cases as this, it is, I believe, the
established mode to express a sense of obligation for the sentiments
avowed, however unequally they may be returned. It is natural that
obligation should be felt, and if I could feel gratitude, I would now
thank you. But I cannot— I have never desired your good opinion,
and you have certainly bestowed it most unwillingly. I am sorry
to have occasioned pain to anyone. It has been most
unconsciously done, however, and I hope will be of short
duration. The feelings which, you tell me, have long prevented the
acknowledgment of your regard, can have little difficulty in
overcoming it after this explanation."
He was struggling for the appearance of composure, and would not
open his lips till he believed himself to have attained it. The pause
was to Elizabeth's feelings dreadful. At length, with a voice of forced
calmness, he said: "And this is all the reply which I am to have the
honour of expecting! I might, perhaps, wish to be informed why, with
so little endeavour at civility, I am thus rejected. But it is of small
importance."
"I might as well inquire," replied she, "why with so evident a
desire of offending and insulting me, you chose to tell me that
you liked me against your will, against your reason, and even
against your character? Was not this some excuse for incivility, if I
was uncivil? But I have other provocations. You know I have. Had
not my feelings decided against you— had they been
indifferent, or had they even been favourable, do you think that
any consideration would tempt me to accept the man who has
been the means of ruining, perhaps for ever, the happiness of a
most beloved sister?"
"I have every reason in the world to think ill of you. No motive can
excuse the unjust and ungenerous part you acted there. You dare
not, you cannot deny, that you have been the principal, if not
the only means of dividing them from each other— of exposing
one to the censure of the world for caprice and instability, and
the other to its derision for disappointed hopes, and involving
them both in misery of the acutest kind."
"I have no wish of denying that I did everything in my power to
separate my friend from your sister, or that I rejoice in my success.
Towards him I have been kinder than towards myself."
"But it is not merely this affair," she continued, "on which my dislike
is founded. Long before it had taken place my opinion of you was
decided."
"And this," cried Darcy, as he walked with quick steps across the
room, "is your opinion of me! This is the estimation in which you
hold me! I thank you for explaining it so fully. My faults,
according to this calculation, are heavy indeed! But perhaps,"
added he, stopping in his walk, and turning towards her, "these
offenses might have been overlooked, had not your pride been hurt
by my honest confession of the scruples that had long prevented my
forming any serious design. These bitter accusations might have
been suppressed, had I, with greater policy, concealed my struggles,
and flattered you into the belief of my being impelled by unqualified,
unalloyed inclination; by reason, by reflection, by everything. But
disguise of every sort is my abhorrence. Nor am I ashamed of the
feelings I related. They were natural and just. Could you expect me
to rejoice in the inferiority of your connections?— to congratulate
myself on the hope of relations, whose condition in life is so
decidedly beneath my own?"
Elizabeth felt herself growing more angry every moment; yet she
tried to the utmost to speak with composure when she said: "You
are mistaken, Mr. Darcy, if you suppose that the mode of your
declaration affected me in any other way, than as it spared the
concern which I might have felt in refusing you, had you
behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner."She saw him start at
this, but he said nothing, and she continued: "You could not have
made the offer of your hand in any possible way that would have
tempted me to accept it."Again his astonishment was obvious; and
he looked at her with an expression of mingled incredulity and
mortification. She went on: "From the very beginning— from the
first moment, I may almost say— of my acquaintance with you,
your manners, impressing me with the fullest belief of your
arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings
of others, were such as to form the groundwork of
disapprobation on which succeeding events have built so
immovable a dislike; and I had not known you a month before I
felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever
be prevailed on to marry." (Ch. 34)
"You have said quite enough, madam. I perfectly comprehend
your feelings, and have now only to be ashamed of what my
own have been. Forgive me for having taken up so much of
your time, and accept my best wishes for your health and
happiness." (Ch. 34)
The tumult of her mind, was now painfully great. She knew not how
to support herself, and from actual weakness sat down and cried for
half-an-hour. Her astonishment, as she reflected on what had
passed, was increased by every review of it. That she should
receive an offer of marriage from Mr. Darcy! That he should
have been in love with her for so many months! So much in love
as to wish to marry her in spite of all the objections which had
made him prevent his friend's marrying her sister, and which
must appear at least with equal force in his own case— was
almost incredible! It was gratifying to have inspired unconsciously
so strong an affection. But his pride, his abominable pride— his
shameless avowal of what he had done with respect to Jane— his
unpardonable assurance in acknowledging, though he could not
justify it, and the unfeeling manner in which he had mentioned Mr.
Wickham, his cruelty towards whom he had not attempted to deny,
soon overcame the pity which the consideration of his attachment
had for a moment excited.
"Be not alarmed, madam, on receiving this letter, by the
apprehension of its containing any repetition of those
sentiments or renewal of those offers which were last night so
disgusting to you. I write without any intention of paining you, or
humbling myself, by dwelling on wishes which, for the happiness of
both, cannot be too soon forgotten; and the effort which the
formation and the perusal of this letter must occasion, should have
been spared, had not my character required it to be written and read.
You must, therefore, pardon the freedom with which I demand your
attention; your feelings, I know, will bestow it unwillingly, but I
demand it of your justice.Two offenses of a very different nature, and
by no means of equal magnitude, you last night laid to my charge..."
(Ch. 35)

Chapters 37 - 61
"Well, my comfort is, I am sure Jane will die of a broken heart, and
then he will be sorry for what he has done." (Mrs. Bennet) - Chapter
40
"But that was only when I first knew her, for it is many months since I
have considered her as one of the handsomest women of my
acquaintance.” (Mr. Darcy) - Chapter 45
"When I consider," she added, in a yet more agitated voice, "that I
might have prevented it! -- I who knew what he was. Had I but
explained some part of it only -- some part of what I learnt -- to my
own family! Had his character been known, this could not have
happened. But it is all, all too late now." (Elizabeth)- Chapter 46
"Loss of virtue in a female is irretrievable; that one false step
involves her in endless ruin; that her reputation is no less brittle than
it is beautiful; and that she cannot be too much guarded in her
behaviour towards the undeserving of the other sex.” (Mary) -
Chapter 47
"“The death of your daughter would have been a blessing in
comparison of this … They agree with me in apprehending that this
false step in one daughter will be injurious to the fortunes of all the
others; for who, as Lady Catherine herself condescendingly says,
will connect themselves with such a family?” - Chapter 48
"But how little of permanent happiness could belong to a couple who
were only brought together because their passions were stronger
than their virtue, she could easily conjecture." - Chapter 50
Her heart did whisper that he had done it for her. But it was a
hope shortly checked by other considerations, and she soon
felt that even her vanity was insufficient, when required to
depend on his affection for her— for a woman who had already
refused him— as able to overcome a sentiment so natural as
abhorrence against relationship with Wickham. Brother-in-law of
Wickham! Every kind of pride must revolt from the connection. He
had, to be sure, done much. She was ashamed to think how much.
But he had given a reason for his interference, which asked no
extraordinary stretch of belief. It was reasonable that he should
feel he had been wrong; he had liberality, and he had the means
of exercising it; and though she would not place herself as his
principal inducement, she could, perhaps, believe that remaining
partiality for her might assist his endeavours in a cause where her
peace of mind must be materially concerned. It was painful,
exceedingly painful, to know that they were under obligations to
a person who could never receive a return. (Ch. 52).
"If Mr. Darcy is neither by honour nor inclination confined to his
cousin, why is not he to make another choice? And if I am that
choice, why may not I accept him?""Because honour, decorum,
prudence, nay, interest, forbid it. Yes, Miss Bennet, interest; for do
not expect to be noticed by his family or friends, if you wilfully act
against the inclinations of all. You will be censured, slighted, and
despised, by everyone connected with him. Your alliance will be a
disgrace; your name will never even be mentioned by any of us."
"These are heavy misfortunes," replied Elizabeth. "But the wife
of Mr. Darcy must have such extraordinary sources of
happiness necessarily attached to her situation, that she could,
upon the whole, have no cause to repine." (Ch. 56).
"Miss Bennet I am shocked and astonished. I expected to find a
more reasonable young woman. But do not deceive yourself into a
belief that I will ever recede. I shall not go away till you have given
me the assurance I require.""And I certainly never shall give it. I am
not to be intimidated into anything so wholly unreasonable.
Your ladyship wants Mr. Darcy to marry your daughter; but would my
giving you the wished-for promise make their marriage at all more
probable? Supposing him to be attached to me, would my refusing to
accept his hand make him wish to bestow it on his cousin? Allow me
to say, Lady Catherine, that the arguments with which you have
supported this extraordinary application have been as frivolous as
the application was ill-judged. You have widely mistaken my
character, if you think I can be worked on by such persuasions
as these. How far your nephew might approve of your interference
in his affairs, I cannot tell; but you have certainly no right to concern
yourself in mine. I must beg, therefore, to be importuned no farther
on the subject." (Ch. 56).
"You are then resolved to have him?""I have said no such thing. I am
only resolved to act in that manner, which will, in my own opinion,
constitute my happiness, without reference to you, or to any person
so wholly unconnected with me.""It is well. You refuse, then, to
oblige me. You refuse to obey the claims of duty, honour, and
gratitude. You are determined to ruin him in the opinion of all his
friends, and make him the contempt of the world.""Neither duty, nor
honour, nor gratitude," replied Elizabeth, "have any possible
claim on me, in the present instance. No principle of either
would be violated by my marriage with Mr. Darcy. And with
regard to the resentment of his family, or the indignation of the
world, if the former were excited by his marrying me, it would
not give me one moment's concern— and the world in general
would have too much sense to join in the scorn." (Ch. 56).
"Mr. Darcy, you see, is the man! Now, Lizzy, I think I have surprised
you. Could he, or the Lucases, have pitched on any man within the
circle of our acquaintance, whose name would have given the lie
more effectually to what they related? Mr. Darcy, who never looks
at any woman but to see a blemish, and who probably never
looked at you in his life! It is admirable!"Elizabeth tried to join in
her father's pleasantry, but could only force one most reluctant
smile. Never had his wit been directed in a manner so little
agreeable to her."
"For what do we live, but to make sport for our neighbours, and
laugh at them in our turn?"
"Had they fixed on any other man it would have been nothing; but
his perfect indifference, and your pointed dislike, make it so
delightfully absurd! Much as I abominate writing, I would not give up
Mr. Collins's correspondence for any consideration."
"He is a gentleman; I am a gentleman’s daughter; so far we are
equal" (Ch. 56)
Elizabeth had never been more at a loss to make her feelings
appear what they were not. It was necessary to laugh, when she
would rather have cried. Her father had most cruelly mortified her,
by what he said of Mr. Darcy's indifference, and she could do nothing
but wonder at such a want of penetration, or fear that perhaps,
instead of his seeing too little, she might have fancied too much. (Ch.
57)
"You are too generous to trifle with me. If your feelings are still
what they were last April, tell me so at once. My affections and
wishes are unchanged, but one word from you will silence me
on this subject for ever." (Ch. 58)
Elizabeth, feeling all the more than common awkwardness and
anxiety of his situation, now forced herself to speak; and
immediately, though not very fluently, gave him to understand that
her sentiments had undergone so material a change, since the
period to which he alluded, as to make her receive with gratitude and
pleasure his present assurances. The happiness which this reply
produced, was such as he had probably never felt before; and
he expressed himself on the occasion as sensibly and as
warmly as a man violently in love can be supposed to do. Had
Elizabeth been able to encounter his eye, she might have seen how
well the expression of heartfelt delight, diffused over his face,
became him; but, though she could not look, she could listen, and he
told her of feelings, which, in proving of what importance she was to
him, made his affection every moment more valuable.They walked
on, without knowing in what direction. There was too much to
be thought, and felt, and said, for attention to any other objects.
"It taught me to hope," said he, "as I had scarcely ever allowed
myself to hope before. I knew enough of your disposition to be
certain that, had you been absolutely, irrevocably decided against
me, you would have acknowledged it to Lady Catherine, frankly and
openly."Elizabeth coloured and laughed as she replied, "Yes, you
know enough of my frankness to believe me capable of that. After
abusing you so abominably to your face, I could have no scruple in
abusing you to all your relations."
"We will not quarrel for the greater share of blame annexed to that
evening," said Elizabeth. "The conduct of neither, if strictly
examined, will be irreproachable; but since then, we have both, I
hope, improved in civility.""I cannot be so easily reconciled to
myself. The recollection of what I then said, of my conduct, my
manners, my expressions during the whole of it, is now, and has
been many months, inexpressibly painful to me. Your reproof, so
well applied, I shall never forget: 'had you behaved in a more
gentlemanlike manner.' Those were your words. You know not, you
can scarcely conceive, how they have tortured me;— though it was
some time, I confess, before I was reasonable enough to allow their
justice."
"You thought me then devoid of every proper feeling, I am sure you
did. The turn of your countenance I shall never forget, as you said
that I could not have addressed you in any possible way that would
induce you to accept me."
"When I wrote that letter," replied Darcy, "I believed myself perfectly
calm and cool, but I am since convinced that it was written in a
dreadful bitterness of spirit.""The letter, perhaps, began in bitterness,
but it did not end so. The adieu is charity itself. But think no more of
the letter. The feelings of the person who wrote, and the person who
received it, are now so widely different from what they were then,
that every unpleasant circumstance attending it ought to be
forgotten. You must learn some of my philosophy. Think only of the
past as its remembrance gives you pleasure.""I cannot give you
credit for any philosophy of the kind. Your retrospections must be
so totally void of reproach, that the contentment arising from
them is not of philosophy, but, what is much better, of
innocence. But with me, it is not so. Painful recollections will intrude
which cannot, which ought not, to be repelled. I have been a selfish
being all my life, in practice, though not in principle. As a child I was
taught what was right, but I was not taught to correct my
temper. I was given good principles, but left to follow them in
pride and conceit. Unfortunately an only son (for many years an
only child), I was spoilt by my parents, who, though good themselves
(my father, particularly, all that was benevolent and amiable),
allowed, encouraged, almost taught me to be selfish and
overbearing; to care for none beyond my own family circle; to think
meanly of all the rest of the world; to wish at least to think meanly of
their sense and worth compared with my own. Such I was, from eight
to eight and twenty; and such I might still have been but for you,
dearest, loveliest Elizabeth! What do I not owe you! You taught me a
lesson, hard indeed at first, but most advantageous. By you, I was
properly humbled. I came to you without a doubt of my
reception. You showed me how insufficient were all my
pretensions to please a woman worthy of being pleased."
"My object then," replied Darcy, "was to show you, by every civility in
my power, that I was not so mean as to resent the past; and I hoped
to obtain your forgiveness, to lessen your ill opinion, by letting you
see that your reproofs had been attended to. How soon any other
wishes introduced themselves I can hardly tell, but I believe in
about half an hour after I had seen you."
"There can be no doubt of that. It is settled between us already, that
we are to be the happiest couple in the world. But are you pleased,
Jane? Shall you like to have such a brother?""Very, very much.
Nothing could give either Bingley or myself more delight. But we
considered it, we talked of it as impossible. And do you really love
him quite well enough? Oh, Lizzy! do anything rather than marry
without affection. Are you quite sure that you feel what you ought to
do?""Oh, yes! You will only think I feel more than I ought to do, when
I tell you all.""What do you mean?""Why, I must confess that I love
him better than I do Bingley. I am afraid you will be angry.""My
dearest sister, now be serious. I want to talk very seriously. Let me
know every thing that I am to know, without delay. Will you tell me
how long you have loved him?""It has been coming on so
gradually, that I hardly know when it began. But I believe I must
date it from my first seeing his beautiful grounds at Pemberley."
Another entreaty that she would be serious, however, produced the
desired effect; and she soon satisfied Jane by her solemn
assurances of attachment.
"I cannot fix on the hour, or the look, or the words, which laid the
foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I
had begun." (Mr.Darcy, Chapter 60)